


Lose Control

by Ruriska



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Incest, M/M, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Shimadacest, Smut, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 10:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11205978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruriska/pseuds/Ruriska
Summary: The mysterious Sentai Warrior, Hero of Hanamura, has been plaguing the Shimada Clan; weapons destroyed, money going missing, deals halted, assassinations thwarted. He seems unstoppable but Hanzo won't rest until he has the armoured fighter in his clutches.





	Lose Control

**Author's Note:**

> Anon sentai Genji with bottom Hanzo as requested by Mujaween! I may have gotten a little carried away but I had fun with this one! 8D

Hanzo steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and counted backwards from ten very slowly. He reigned his rage back down to a low boil, willed some self control before he launched himself over the table and took his anger out on someone whose only crime was being the bearer of bad news.

“How much did we lose?” Hanzo asked without opening his eyes. 

There was an audible gulp from across the desk. “The whole shipment, Shimada-sama.”

“Hm. And?”

“It all went into the harbour. Seven men were incapacitated, only two are badly injured. No deaths. The enemy escaped unhurt.”

Hanzo’s eyes snapped open. “Of course he did.” His head jerked in disgust.   
“He runs rings around you every time. But what I want to know,” Hanzo leaned forward, intent, making the other man squirm, “was how he knew the delivery was arriving today? We changed the date in secret. Nobody else knew until an hour beforehand.”

He could see Fujita weighing his answer, trying to work out the safest response. 

“I do not know, Shimada-sama.”

Hanzo watched the sweat on his brow, the way his gaze skittered anxiously. “You’re not telling me something,” he stated, low, dangerous.

“Aaah,” the other man flushed and reached into his pocket, the slow slide of his hand downwards. Hanzo followed the gesture, his body tensed in warning. If Fujita thought he could reach for a weapon and attack in Hanzo’s own office, he would be sadly mistaken. Hanzo dropped one hand below his desk, fingers brushing the handle of the hidden knife.

But when Fujita took his hand from his pocket, it wasn’t with a weapon. It was with photos.

He stepped closer to fan the three of them out on the desk and then stepped back swiftly. “These were found at the scene.”

Hanzo leaned in, picked up the pictures one at a time, frowned at the Hello Kitty borders.

Then he simply marvelled. 

There he was. The bane of Hanzo’s existence. The Sentai Warrior. A selfie, posing with his thumb up in front of the downed Shimada thugs, one with a leg clearly broken and the others unconscious. The second was another selfie, Sentai Warrior in his ridiculous armour crouched on top of the weapons crate, camera looking downwards. You couldn’t see the grin but you could tell it was there behind the helmet.

“Instax,” Fujita supplied helpfully. “He had one of the men take the last one for him.”

Hanzo picked it up.

Studied it.

Disbelieving. 

There he was, full body, standing in the midst of the destruction, gloved fingers shaped into a heart symbol. 

Hanzo put it down, arranged them into a neat pile with the last one on top. “Have the man who took the picture removed. I will not have that sort of weakness from any of my men. Next time they will break their own fingers before taking part in something so shameful.”

“Yes, Shimada-sama.”

“You may leave.”

“As you wish.”

When Fujita was gone, Hanzo studied the photo once more. It was small and blurry but you could see how powerfully built the so-called hero was. This was the person who was ruining the Shimada name, casually destroying even the best laid plans. Weapons destroyed, money going missing, deals halted, assassinations thwarted. He appeared everywhere, without fail, and nobody had been able to stop him. They hadn’t been able to so much as scratch him.

The Elders were up in arms, they’d held meeting after meeting and all they’d managed to accomplish was stare at Hanzo and demand that he ‘do something’. Well, Hanzo would do something. Oh, he would prove that this hero with his vigilante justice was just a man.

\----

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” Hanzo dropped his hand, with the photo, aiming to hide it but Genji was too quick. He snatched it out of Hanzo’s grasp and hopped back a few steps to make sure Hanzo couldn’t reach him. Not that Hanzo could be bothered making that effort. He sunk further back into the couch instead, watched his brother as he looked at the photo with a lopsided grin.

“This is that guy? The one who keeps fucking up business?”

“Yes.”

“He’s kinda hot.”

Hanzo arched an eyebrow. “Only you would say something so inane.”

“Then why are you staring at it?” Now that he knew Hanzo wasn’t going try and take it back, Genji dropped down on the couch next to him, holding the photo out for them both to stare at Sentai Warrior with pointed helmet and fluttering white scarf.

“I’m going to ruin him.”

Genji had the gall to laugh. He shifted his body, hooked his legs over Hanzo’s lap. Hanzo absentmindedly wrapped a hand around his calf, holding him there. 

“You won’t catch him.”

Hanzo frowned, turned his head, looked at his brother, eyed the lightly flushed cheeks and quirked lips. “Why?” He asked, because the certainty in Genji’s voice hurt. The reminder that Hanzo was doing this alone. Facing this challenge alone. Genji was happy to simply watch it unfold and Hanzo bore the strain.

“I dunno... he seems too cool. He’s a hero!”

“He is slowly tearing our business apart and you want to call him _cool_?”

Genji continued to grin. “Well, he is. I like his helmet.”

“Get off.”

“What?” Now his expression soured.

“Off,” Hanzo repeated, shoving at Genji’s legs until they slid off his lap and to the floor. Genji pulled them up to his chest, pouted with his cheek on his knees.

“Don’t get upset with me. I’m just trying to make it funny.”

“It isn’t funny, Genji.” Hanzo grabbed his photo back and rose from the couch. “This is our inheritance, our life, our family. If you cared a bit more, together we could-”

“Whatever. You know that’s not going to happen.” Genji interrupted him and stood, one smooth motion, hands going into the air in a long-bodied stretch. Hanzo watched his muscles shift beneath his tight shirt, back arching. 

“No,” the words were sour on his tongue, “it’s not.”

\---

Hanzo took the photo to bed with him.

He laid on his back with it pressed against his chest with his hand and thought until the early hours of the morning. His mind raced, offered new plans, new strategies. When he couldn’t stay still any longer, he sat up and pulled his laptop over. There was footage from a warehouse where one of his highest ranking men had meant to be completing a drug deal.

The blurred streak of green, silver and black. Sentai Warrior’s movements were beautiful, elegant, no wasted action as he took down one man after the other. Not once was he forced to resort to anything lethal, simply knocking out his enemies, dodging bullets as if they were moving in slow motion.

Strong, indestructible, beautiful. 

Hanzo was looking forward to taking him down personally. 

\---

It took four more months.

Four months of sleepless nights.

Waiting, preparing, wanting.

\---

The key difference between Hanzo and the Sentai Warrior was that Hanzo didn’t pull his punches. From the start, the vigilante was on the backfoot and he was never able to get the upperhand no matter how quickly he moved.

It had almost been disappointing to face his foe and find him so lacking.

Even so, triumph was a heady thing.

The adrenalin racing through his body was a vicious high, making him giddy and surprisingly prone to laughter. His men clearly found it unnerving as they escorted the captive to Hanzo’s office.

They left him on his knees in the middle of the room, arms and legs tied together, forced to arch his back and kept his chest pushed forward. There was blood leaking from his side, a cut in the armour. It was hardly more than scratch but he had been surprised enough by the strike to allow Hanzo to wrestle him to the ground using techniques that reminded him of when he had used to train with Genji.

“Not so quick now, are we?” Hanzo gloated as he stalked around him, eyed the helmet, still in place. He made no move to remove it.

This was his first real victory as the head of the Shimada. 

Not since his father had died had he felt so in control, so potent. This was his place in the world and nobody could stop him. It was a surprisingly hollow feeling. This was the best his life could offer him. 

“Game over.” He dropped into a crouch before his captive, drumming his fingers along the side of the helmet. “You have done enough damage.” 

No response. The dark visor looked back at him. Utterly unreadable. It was if he was threatening an omnic. But even they had faces. Even they had expressions. Some of them, at least. This was sheer nothingness.

But there was a human underneath and just to prove it, Hanzo dug his fingers into the slash in the armour, pressed against the wound until it made the armoured man flinch and hiss. His fingers came back bloody and he licked them clean, one at a time.

“You belong to me now.”

Hanzo rose, walked back to his desk, hands quivering from an excess of energy as he poured himself some sake. He leaned against his desk as he drank, looked at his prisoner, caught himself staring at his crotch, the stretched spandex that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

Genji had been right.

Sentai finally spoke, his voice from the mask metallic and strange. “The Shimada Clan is a virus that needs to be stopped.”

Hanzo considered his words for a while, tried to penetrate that dark visor. “Your plan might have worked better if you had bothered to kill any of my retainers.”

“I am no murderer.”

“And that’s why you have lost.”

His hands were still shaking and now they were sweating as well.

The fire in his belly wasn’t just from the sake.

He had his enemy right where he desired.

If he wanted, he could rip of his helmet. He could slash his throat, rip off his head and parade it down the halls. He could have him beaten and bloodied, tortured until there was nothing left of him. He could take payment for their lost business however he liked.

Hanzo walked around his desk and opened the top drawer.

There was the photo.

Limp bodies, heart fingers, a smirk you couldn’t see.

Next to it was a small tube.

He picked it up, curled his fingers around it.

Hanzo walked back towards Sentai Warrior, slow and steady, halted in front of him. It was easy to talk to a faceless man. When there was nothing to read, you couldn’t be distracted by emotions. 

“I hate it,” he said.

Sentai’s head jerked.

“I hate all of it. I hate the pressure. I hate never being good enough. I hate that I’ve forgotten how many people I’ve killed or who they are. I hate that it doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.” He reached out with his free hand, the other still protectively curled into a fist around the tube, and stroked the side of the helmet, traced the green V with his fingers. “I feel very... alone.”

There was a sharp inhale.

“You are not alone,” the voice rushed out. “Your brother-”

Hanzo cut him off with a surprised bark of laughter. “My brother? What would you know? How curious.” He shook his head. “I resent my brother for his freedom but I’m glad he never has to dirty his blade. The further away from me he is, the better for him.” 

Leaving the tube on the desk, Hanzo started to undo the buttons of his shirt, slow and steady, no longer shaking. It wasn’t until he had taken the shirt off and started on his belt that there was a surprised, “what are you doing?” from his captive.

The leather belt slithered free.

He began on the pant buttons.

“My life is all about control. I am not allowed to slip. I must remain powerful, must appear to be an impossible force, to rule fiercely.” His pushed his pants down, took his underwear with it. “Being the dragon, being a Shimada, gives you no space to be yourself or relax. There is only the clan.”

Hanzo undid the laces of his shoes one at a time, bending over to reach them and then took them off. Naked, he folded all of his clothes neatly and placed them on a chair. When he checked, Sentai was breathing harshly, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“What are you planning to do?” He asked, clearly trying to sound calmer than he actually was. Hanzo found it pleasing. 

“You’re the hero, aren’t you?” Hanzo replied as he sat on the desk facing him. “I’m the villain in your story. The arch-nemesis. You’ve been plaguing me for months. I’ve enjoyed the chase.” He unscrewed the tube and squished the lubricant onto his hand, then when he pulled up his legs and balanced with one hand, started to push his fingers into his asshole. He wasn’t gentle with himself, shoved two fingers past the rim immediately, demanding it stretch.

“S-stop it,” Sentai stammered and finally started to struggle, straining against his bonds.

Hanzo laughed, high and breathless. 

His cock was barely hard yet but there was a sick needy warmth in his belly. His excitement was strange tingling under the skin, a feverish heat. “There’s no point in being a villain, if there’s no hero, right?”

He continued his show, displaying his efforts, until the rim was puffy and red and he ached to be filled up properly. It wasn’t really for his own benefit and he didn’t stop fingering himself until he saw a telltale bulge outlined in spandex.

There was a flush along his chest and cheeks as he finally pulled his fingers out with a wet squish. He let his hair down from its ponytail, let the long dark hair fall freely across his shoulders as he made his way over to the man that would help set him free... if only for a moment.

“I’m tired of control,” he explained as he untied Sentai Warrior. “I want to let go. I want you to _fuck_ me.”

It had been an idea that had been forming for a long time, a hazy need that had hibernated in the back of his mind until it was ready to emerge. 

Sentai didn’t move.

There was no way to know what thoughts were in his mind.

He knelt rigidly as Hanzo moved back to the desk, bent over with his elbows on the smooth oak surface and offered himself. His eyes closed, waiting, hoping, heart hammering in his chest. 

There was a rustle of movement behind him, the sound of armour plates clicking together. Even though he was expecting it, when the gloved hand touched his back, he flinched in surprise. It caressed him slowly, left a hot line down his back to his ass. 

“Are you sure?” The lowered, tentative voice made him tremble. “You don’t know who I am.”

Hanzo let his forehead rest against the cool desk. “You’re my Hero. That’s all I need to know.”

There was an audible groan and no further hesitation. 

The lube was there but Sentai Warrior leaned over him instead, prodded at Hanzo’s mouth with his gloved fingers until he opened his lips and let them in. They filled up the space, rough material that he laved with spit, pressed his tongue into. The fingers crooked, hooking into the side of his mouth and digging under his tongue as if he was trying to milk him of saliva.

It worked and the glove left his mouth. Hanzo craned his head over his shoulder, hoping to see Sentai rubbing it along his dick but all that filled his vision was that dark faceless mask. He could feel the eyes on him, knew that a stranger was staring back at him as he started feeding him his dick. That Hanzo was going to be used up by someone powerful, somebody _better_ , made his cock jerk where it was hanging untouched between his legs. 

The slow blunt intrusion, the burning stretch, made Hanzo squirm. He spread his legs further, until he was on his tiptoes, giving Sentai the space to fuck into. 

“Do not be gentle,” he begged.

“I’ve got you,” was the promise that was given to him.

Sentai Warrior, a man on a determined course to destroy his empire, began to fuck him with slow, deliberate thrusts. Hanzo let himself go limp and pliable, focused on nothing else. Strong hands held onto his thighs, lifted him up to provide an even better angle and the pace picked up from there. 

Pull and thrust, one frantic slam after the other, dragging Hanzo onto his cock over and over again, the sore slapping of armour against skin, a distant pain in the base of his spine, cheek sliding against the sweat-covered desk, the ache in his muscles, the pleasure like little lightning bolts shooting through his groin. 

It all rolled together; an overwhelming torrent of sensations.

He was making soft noises that he was aware of in only the vaguest sort of way. Soft, drawn-out whines. Above him Sentai was huffing with effort, his breaths rattling, inhuman. 

The words started after a while. 

“That’s it, Hanzo. Take it. Yes, you’re so good.”

_Good._

Hanzo choked on a moan.

Sentai pushed him forward with his whole body, slid him further along the desk and hooked one leg up while letting the other drop. With his one free hand, he grabbed a handful of Hanzo’s long hair, coiled his fingers through it and pulled roughly.

Hanzo’s head was forced back and with it came a moan, pulled forcibly up from his chest. 

He felt the cock inside him jerk, the feeling so incredibly vivid. 

“Yeah, just like that,” Sentai praised. 

Hanzo would have done anything for him then. Anything he asked for. Anything at all.

But the best he could do at that moment was to remain exactly as he was, a drooling, desperate mess, head back and neck aching, as Sentai slammed into him over and over. His cock was now trapped against edge of the desk and it wasn’t comfortable but it didn’t stop him from coming without warning. It shuddered through him, made his body feel out of control, jerking like a fish on a hook.

Sentai fucked him through it, swore viciously and laughed, a high-pitched and disturbing sound, full of delight and disbelief. 

He felt it when the other man finally came. Pressure inside, warmth, dripping and wet.

He heard it too; in the way his name was spoken, as if he was something precious.

“Hanzo,” Sentai Warrior murmured close to his ear, the cold metal of the helmet against his cheek. Hanzo could almost believe he recognized the voice. He pretended his tears were from being fucked. 

Then Sentai pulled out and let go of his hair, fingers patting it down as if it apology for how rough he’d been. Then that powerful presence was gone and Hanzo lifted his head, looked back at the armoured man standing in the middle of the room, already retreating. His cock hanging obscenely free of the one opening. The only flesh on his whole body.

Hanzo couldn’t move, he was boneless, sore, sated. 

“Run,” he ordered. His voice was wrecked but it still had power. “Run until I catch you again.”

A shudder ran through his nemesis and then he ran.

It didn’t matter that he was in the den of his enemy, surrounded on all sides by guards lurking the hallways. Hanzo knew he would escape. 

Then they would play this game all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
